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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25319362">atrophy's walk</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nashnktora/pseuds/Kaszmostiras'>Kaszmostiras (Nashnktora)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, If you don't like dogs this fic ain't for u., Reader's gender is unspecified., Will be using they / them if it becomes relevant., perpetual wip. maybe. we'll see.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:14:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,610</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25319362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nashnktora/pseuds/Kaszmostiras</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Something is going on with Cyberlife's machines and you are about to trust one of them with your life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Upgraded Connor | RK900/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>atrophy's walk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>part of a <span class="u">oneshot</span> for some friends of mine and to further explore my personal interpretation of the RK900 and how he is perceived by others. for the record, I've never in my life written a reader insert and have no clue what I'm doing. <i>welcome to hell</i>.</p><p>EDIT: heya !!  thank you for checking this out.  just a note that this is on ice for the foreseeable future due to IRL stuff and my cursed hyperfixation having moved on from DBH.  I won't forsake it, but I can't say when I'll be able to work on it again.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything hurts. That is the first thing you notice. The world is draped in darkness and your burning lungs draw a sharp breath. Somewhere in the distance sounds a commotion, ringing in your ears not unlike sirens, and the cold breeze passing by does little to soothe a body on fire.</p><p>Barely coherent enough to realize your own senses and existence, you have just enough instincts left to roll onto a bruised back. <i>Ouch.</i> Breathing comes easier now but does not diminish the terrible ache across your being or the headache slowly creeping into your head akin wicked greeting. You feel like you have been hit by a truck. At least you suspect it might feel as such. Heavy and echoing, as though your bones repelled an attempt to be crushed and are trying to breathe just as you are. In and out, fight the pain of every inhale and cherish the relief of every exhale, try to ignore the taste of metal. </p><p>A newly conscious mind gives its best attempt to catch up but you finally manage to jostle yourself out of your daze and begin the painstaking effort of opening your eyes, blinking away the last remnants of your stupor. Although it seems much of the darkness was beyond your control, enough light is filtering in for you to recognize the ceiling above with its fluorescent lamps of which merely a handful still cling to their flickering life. You slowly force yourself to sit up despite your entire body screaming at you not to. </p><p>Thankfully all the limbs you are meant to have are accounted for, albeit covered in cuts and bruises, some more severe than others. You and your clothes are an absolute mess of torn skin and fabric alike, but what horrifies you more is the blood you can feel coating your mouth in the taste of metal and the dust you are inhaling. You spit out what little there is and rationalize that anything major would either be more obvious or is not something you can help anyway. None of this is pleasant, but all things considered you are alive and will take that compromise, especially seeing your surroundings. </p><p><i>It looks like a bomb went off.</i> A thought meant to exaggerate and amuse, keep grim thoughts at bay. But the more you survey the area and think back, the less you intent to argue against such an assessment. </p><p>There is rubble everywhere. Pieces of concrete in varying sizes torn from their place, scattered about in what looks to be a hallway, judging by the narrow ceiling stretching out before and behind you. Some have landed much too close for comfort. And then you notice a doorway to your right, or what remains of it. You recognize some of the intended shape, but walls meant to separate one room from another are missing massive chunks, exposing inner workings of metal and a view that under different circumstances might have been captivating in its own way. </p><p>Naught but open space, a structure once divided into sections and floors reduced to nothing, exposing the remnants you sit among to the outside world. You notice the source of light now. It is the gentle moon peering into what from your perspective might as well be described as a concrete maw, bathing a scene so frightful in hues most serene with the help of the many stars littering dark night sky. It paints quite a deceiving picture, draping the aftermath of terrible events in a certain tranquility. It is an odd comfort for a mind still processing current position and how it even got here.</p><p>You vaguely remember loud voices, people in a panic. <b>Something going wrong.</b> Then, a deafening noise. </p><p>Willing yourself to move is a difficult task but you do it anyway because what else is there to do? You use the nearby rubble for balance, cautious not to earn yourself any more cuts than you already have. It is tempting, of course, to sit and wait. To rest up in vain hope the ache across your body will fade. But instincts are on high alert and demand otherwise, warning of the blood you still taste and weak feeling creeping through your limbs. This is not a good place to stay in any condition. </p><p>Step by wobbly step you move towards the open space where blinking lights far down below pierce the night with hues of red and blue. You do not see as much as you feel yourself passing the threshold from hallway to room, like your head still registers intended layout despite how much has been reduced to debris. The few pillars holding steadfast in their duty are helpful. But you do not get far, stopping a safe distance away from the dead drop into a dark abyss littered with the collapsed portions of an architectural giant. You can feel the cold air much better now as it soothes your burning cuts and offers fresh air to breathe. </p><p>And then you realize just how lucky you were, how large the building truly was — <i>past tense</i>.  Top to bottom, left and right, it felt like standing near a crater. What a strange sight to see a creation made of such sturdy material crumbled beneath own weight as though it were merely a house of cards: one card out of place and the rest bids adieu. There is much that can be contemplated in such an atmosphere and a state of mind conjured by the knowledge of just how narrowly you evaded death. It has not quite settled in yet. </p><p>Instead you focus on the lights below. Although the night limits your sight with only a waxing crescent in the sky, it is easy to spot the commotion of police and ambulance cars alike, reaching you as indecipherable noise but also relief, a promise of safety. All you have to do is descend through a building that just lost nearly half of its structural integrity. A daunting thought that twists your stomach and reminds you of the headache that pounds away at your skull. </p><p>Suddenly a noise comes from the hallway behind you and you jolt out of your thoughts, spinning around to stare much like a deer in headlights at the source. </p><p>… a dog. <i>What? </i></p><p>
Your mind rewinds. The noise had been a bark, strong and friendly of which the first word you easily attribute to the animal it came from. A large, stocky dog covered in short, black fur. It reminds you of a German Shepherd except the muzzle does not match, much more reminiscent of a Rottweiler. They are not canines you would like to have an unpleasant introduction to and neither is this one. Part of you is terrified, being stared down by an unknown dog without leash, but you also realize nothing about its posture suggests hostility — despite you staring just as much. If anything, its loopy ears and a long tail wagging like it is waiting for approval dispel much of your terror. 
</p><p>
And then you notice the vest.  A perfect fit around broad withers, obsidian hues easily missed 'pon an already dark coat in a place where the moonlight grows weaker. 
</p><p>
You need not speculate long, for the next thing you hear are footsteps and the animal turns. There it is, plain to see in stark white font: <b>Police K-9.</b> Oh thank god. Just like that, a huge weight is lifted from your shoulders. 
</p><p>
Once again using the destruction around you to help keep shaking legs stay upright, you slowly make your way towards the canine as an officer – hopefully, judging by the dog's behavior – turns the corner. Perhaps it is merely his association with the police, but you immediately think the man imposing as he stands tall and unshaken amid a place wrought with chaos, brows drawn together in focus. As though untouched by it all, his short raven hair is combed neatly to the side, nary a sign of exhaustion on him. You pause, seeing the drawn weapon in his hands, but the second your presence has been noted the firearm is quickly returned to a holster at his right hip. 
</p><p>
“I'm Cain, with the Detroit Police Department,” the voice matches his appearance: confident and young, but far from inexperienced. There is a weight to it, a deeper edge. This man knows what he is doing. 
</p><p>
Yet he simultaneously looks in his best element and out of place, cloaked entirely in obsidian with the exception of an open jacket draping stark white shades across only his high collar, arms and sides, leaving its shoulders and outer edges lined in the same pitch black as the rest of him. It is hard to tell, but you think he is wearing a dress shirt and slacks. It is an outfit you had expected at a formal event gone wrong, like sudden misfortune had struck and he assumed a position of authority out of necessity, not from an armed police officer meaning to be in this place. Why not dress the part? Off-duty? The police cars on the streets below have you doubt that.
</p><p>
And then you finally notice the azure glow covering his being. Tell-tale triangle near the lapel of his jacket, a brightly lit band around the right bicep and a subtle outline gracing the outer edges of its white collar. He takes a slow step forward with canine companion at his heel and it allows you to spot the halo 'pon his temple, spinning round and round, signifying workings of what lay beneath a seamless facade of humanity.
</p><p>
Your veins run cold. 
</p><p>
Had you not been using a broken piece of concrete to keep yourself upright your legs might have given out.
</p><p>
Not too long ago it had all been a redundant detail easily looked past, just like you almost did. But now, when tensions are growing to the point where people have died and continue to do so every day, it is difficult to look at these signs and not feel a certain manner of dread. You are conditioned time and again to see them as nothing but tools. Tools that are beginning to malfunction more and more recently, from harmless disappearances to leaving terrible murder in their wake. 
</p><p>
Something is going on with Cyberlife's machines and you are about to trust one of them with your life.
</p><p>
You assume some of your thoughts might have shown on your face because the android's posture immediately changes, a seamless transition as an imposing — <i>intimidating</i> — form relaxes and lets broad shoulders fall enough to be inviting without loosing the strength they convey. You thought this being capable of terrible things before even knowing its true nature — still do, somewhere deep within — but when handsome features offer lightest arch of brows and most subtle smile, a cautious but warm expression meant to soothe rising anxiety, something tells you it would only ever be in your protection.
</p><p>
It all looks so natural too, making it easy to believe. 
</p><p>
“I'm here to get you out,” and to further shatter twisted expectations born of terror, <s>it—</s> he speaks gently.
</p><p>
He slowly offers his left hand despite the fair distance still between the two of you and you hesitate, gaze flickering between it and his face for a moment until you finally give a simple “okay“. At least you hope that is what he heard, because right after it leaves your lips you have to cough and clear your throat. It feels awfully dry, own voice scraping along it edges like sandpaper. You are reminded of the taste of metal but elect to bear it without complaint. Instead, you begin to move towards the android — <i>Cain</i>, you remind yourself — leaving your trusty support debris behind. 
</p><p>
He meets you halfway and when you expect to merely grasp his hand he moves farther to hold onto your forearm instead, firm grip closing short of your outer elbow. Instincts have you do the same, fingers closing around his arm as best they can to secure a stable source of balance to rely upon. Much better than cold concrete with its sharp edges by a mile, albeit just as sturdy you notice. There is very little give, but he is no statue. Something evident even more by the shockingly human concern you see writ 'pon his features as your gaze lifts to his. 
</p><p>
You are not sure what color of eyes you are met with. You want to think it a simple grey, but when his head inclines to speak and catches the moonlight, you swear you can see specks of cyan mingling with a shade much more piercing. 
</p><p>
“Can you walk?“ and then those same eyes quickly flick across your bruised form, azure LED blinking. 
</p><p>
“Yeah, just tired,” cautious of your throat you speak. “Looks worse than it is, don't worry.” 
</p><p>
A useless sentiment, you know. It does not take a highly advanced machine scanning your vitals to determine the state your body is in, although you suspect he already has by now. It could be better, but it could also be worse. You are sure he cannot even worry to begin with. It simply felt right to say. 
</p><p>
Judging by the short moment of silence and subtle tilt of the android's — <i>Cain's</i> — head, there lay a few words 'pon his tongue he deems are better left unspoken. Thank god. The last thing you needed was the blatant lie about your well-being ruined by irrefutable facts. You know that he knows and likely vice versa, that is enough. Besides, it is not like you are recklessly throwing yourself into danger or are otherwise neglecting your health. In fact, you would very much like to get out of this place and preferably into a very cleansing shower. Or maybe just straight to bed.
</p><p>
Perhaps he understands, because all you receive after a moment of looking at one another is a quiet huff.
</p><p>
“Paramedics are on stand by, but we're seven stories high. Think you can stay awake until we get down?” 
</p><p>
You are not looking forward to the impending trek and know it is redundant to ask, but you still do with an almost desperate smile on your face and light humor in your voice. 
</p><p>
“I don't suppose the elevator's still working?“ 
</p><p>
Yet despite the nature of your question, or possibly because of it, you are rewarded with an amused chuckle from your company, previously reserved, polite expression replaced by a lopsided grin as attention averts and he finally turns — the back of his jacket is black as well, you notice — to move down the hallway with you in tow, conscious of your slow pace. It was a warm noise, subdued but true, ringing out so suddenly as though his processors had no time to stop it. But it did not disappear as quickly. Instead it naturally became quiet alongside his grin falling into a smile much less restrained than before. 
</p><p>
“I'm afraid we'll be walking.” 
</p><p>
Disappointing, but you suppose preferable to the many dangers posed by an elevator of a building in this state, assuming it has not been swallowed by the collapse like so much else. You also realize he is not leading you back the way he came, from further inside, but through the hallway, parallel to the building's collapsed side. The moonlight becomes a fourth companion as it illuminates your path while casting yourself in the shadow of an advanced machine walking close to your right side, putting himself between a terrifying abyss and your own being. And then he talks as though this were but an evening stroll, easily drawing your attention away from what lay past him. 
</p><p>
“If it's any consolation, Adonis is having a great time of it.“ 
</p><p>
Your sight follows the direction he nods his head and you are met with the large dog from before walking perfect heel at your left side. Having the dog, Adonis, follow beside you and not facing you like he is about to lunge at your throat is a much more comfortable picture. Although you are not sure what constitutes as a great time for this animal. Loopy ears stand at attention, you think, as he moves his nose about. Your own sense of smell is already cursing this place with all its dust and what acrid scent pervades the air despite the cold night breeze. You cannot imagine what Adonis picks up. He does not seem to mind as much, though. If anything, he seems … ecstatic? It is difficult to read an animal trained to be calm in the worst of situations and his body language reveals very little, but you do spot a little wag of his tail now and then. 
</p><p>
You assume... <i>Cain</i> knows this dog enough to speak the truth. 
</p><p>
You do not know why it is difficult to use his name.
</p><p>
“What breed is he?“ 
</p><p>
Trusting him to know the way and not lead you to your inevitable demise just yet, you settle your attention upon the canine, aside from the occasional glance forward to avoid any unfortunate stumbling.
</p><p>
From this close you spot hues of light brown alongside his muzzle and inclining your head for a moment to get a better look confirms his jaw and part of his neck covered in the color. You think there is some more on his chest, although even the moonlight makes it hard to tell. However, the lower parts of his legs are very clearly covered in a typical sock pattern. 
</p><p>
“He's a Beauceron. They're a herding dog breed originating from the plains of central France.“
</p><p>
Compared to how easy banter came to him just moments prior, this answer felt... stiff. Like trivia read off the internet. What surprises you is that you did not expect it. You know he is a machine, have been making efforts to reminds yourself — <i>is that why his name tastes like lead on your tongue?</i> — yet hearing him speak like one feels wrong, out of place. Looking at him, he seems distracted for a moment. Or focused perhaps, just not on your conversation. You wish you could see his LED from this angle. 
</p><p>
For better or worse, you do not get to contemplate on his behavior for long.
</p><p>
“They're very energetic and courageous animals,“ already his voice has returned to its previous timbre and you swear it has a lighter tone to it, being very much invested in the topic despite keeping his sight firmly on where he is leading the three of you, holding steadfast onto your arm. 
</p><p>
“Adonis in particular loves to play. I've been told it made his training much easier.”
</p><p>
He continues to talk as your little group encounter rubble that offers little choice but to go over it. Support beams. Pieces of them broken, the rest descending from the ceiling at an angle, making for an incredibly uneven and slippery terrain. 
</p><p>
“First time I saw him I thought he was a veteran of the force.” 
</p><p>
Part of you is peeved the android is still talking without missing a beat. You are afraid. Is this truly of so little consequence to him? But you will take the distraction. It gives you something to focus on other than the foreboding drop into certain death mere feet to your right as your guide moves ahead of you onto the obstacle at the length of your connected arms and then turns around. Even though you are a relatively safe distance away from the edge, it makes it no less troubling. You could still slip in just the wrong way and tumble—  The beat of your heart grows louder and your already weak legs shake for a different reason as your eyes are glued to the obstacle you are about to cross.
</p><p>
“Turns out he's only two years old.” 
</p><p>
His free hand outstretches and you immediately accept it, clutching it tightly. God, how is this guy standing on these broken beams of concrete like they're just another flat surface? On top of that, he is compensating for your shaking weight as you brave the first step onto a fallen beam, pulling you after him as his own steps are taken backwards. Except his eyes never leave you. 
</p><p>
You chance a look towards him and you notice that you were upset for nothing. 
</p><p>
Cain's words come so casual and carefree, happy even, but his face speaks a much different language. A man so very intimidating even when standing as your protector with the equivalent of a tamed wolf at his command, all he offers you is kindness. Softer than 'pon your meeting have his features become, a gentle smile encouraging you. He is a being that radiates confidence and is now giving you the same, promising safety without mentioning a single word about of it. 
</p><p>
“But he's one of the bravest and most loyal animals I've ever met. ” 
</p><p>
He glances behind you for a mere second and with newfound bravery you allow yourself the same, surprised when you are met with Adonis patiently waiting for you to continue as he carefully balances on beams right behind you, only ever letting you out of his sights to adjust his own footing. How strange to be so invigorated by the sight of a dog concerned for your well-being. How clearly you can see his ears are perked and the alert state of his body, ready to intervene at any moment. Looking back ahead has you wonder whether the dog comes after its handler or the other way around. 
</p><p>
All things considered, you could do much worse than being watched over by an advanced police android and his loyal canine.
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>adonis is best boy, no i don't take criticism. </p><p>but I do take criticism about the writing !!  It's a slow start and very little is happening thus far, but I got somewhat of a plan of where to take things ( looks @ smudged writing on my wrist ) and I'm very interested to hear your thoughts !  </p><p>Cain is a very... <i>peculiar</i> character who appears perfectly normal to regular people ( or <i>does he</i>, being an android? <b>huh</b> ). There's a good chance that will not change in this oneshot. But who knows, maybe I'll throw in some spice down the line.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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